


Ardor

by Ashstriferous



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 17:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashstriferous/pseuds/Ashstriferous
Summary: The only way to deal with doubt is to burn it away. It's a good thing Drifter's always liked going down in flames. For Day 3 (Warm/Cold) of ShinDrift Week.





	Ardor

**Author's Note:**

> i had nothing planned for today, and then suddenly this happened.

The chill of the Derelict had a way of creeping its way beneath Shin's skin and deep into his bones. Everything about the ship felt wrong -- but it's wrong in the kind of way that's found itself feeling _Right_ for Shin. It's a complicated, jagged line that Shin (Orsa, Vale, the list goes on) walks. And the Drifter -- he strutted up and down that frigid line barefoot in the snow. 

Shin supposes it was just another one of those maddening things about the roguish man.

He also supposes it isn’t the chill that bothered him, so much as what it reminds him of. Yes, he made a habit of walking side-by-side with the darker things of the world. That didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Yor may have taught him about necessary evils, but that didn't mean he enjoyed how it made him feel. There were times when the darkness and the whispers therein proved to be too much even for him.

This is one of those times.

Shin’s long since track of what Drifter is saying -- something about gambit and its more troublesome competitors. It’s business, a meeting so formal that so far, he hasn’t even bothered to take off his helmet. He doesn’t feel like himself, but some cold, indecisive creature somewhere between Dredgen Vale and the Man with the Golden Gun. 

Apparently he can’t take it. 

Shin doesn't process his own movements until Drifter is on the ground. Shin has a hand outstretched, and a dull ache radiates from his palm to his wrist. Based on the way Drifter grips his shoulder, Shin easily puts the pieces of _what_ happened together. It’s the _why_ of it that doesn’t quite make sense to him.

For a moment, he's grateful that he hadn't taken his helmet off -- he's certain his expression would be too baffled to take seriously.

The expression on Drifter’s face draws Shin from his thoughts. Flat on his back and staring with no small amount of bewilderment, Drifter is a sight to behold. There's a note of surprise that causes the crows feet around his eyes to lift. Beneath that, though, there's a hard note of _something_. Shin's seen that look before. It usually comes just before Drifter does something like turning a knife on Shin and ruining (yet another) pair of pants.

Not today. Today that chill has awoken something in Shin, called just the slight hint of Vale to the surface. It's that part of him that spots Drifter's hand twitching, inching toward either his knife or Shin's ankle. Either way, Shin moves before the Drifter can do anything else. The toe of his boot comes to rest just above Drifter's throat. He presses in just a little, just enough to feel the man's breath hitch beneath his feet. Even beneath the sole of his boot, he can feel the other man growl.

"Look who came to play," he chokes out. There's defiance written all over his face -- he's down, but he's certainly not out. 

Behind his helmet, Shin smiles. He imagines it's a menacing sort of look, one of those smiles with wild eyes and a few too many teeth. He almost wishes Drifter could see it, if only so Shin could see the way it made Drifter shudder. He doesn't like to admit it, but Shin knows that Drifter enjoys when he takes the lead, even as he pretends to fight back.

Shin tips his chin upward and cocks his head to the side. He studies the pinned man the way a cat studies its prey. His boot shifts, drawing over the wide plain of Drifter's chest and down the span of his abdomen. He can feel each and every time the man shudders beneath him, enjoying the touch even through his innumerable layers of clothing. 

"You just gonna keep toyin' with me, or are you gonna do somethin'?" It's almost fascinating, how smooth Drifter's voice remained, even as his body trembled beneath Shin. "Always playin' games, you. Layers on layers of bull--"

Shin reaches the fork of Drifter's legs and presses downward. The air in the other man's lungs rushes out in one quick burst, taking with it whatever else he'd planned to say. It draws another self-satisfied smirk out of Shin.

"You talk too much." He kneels down, foot still ever slightly pressed against an obviously hard cock. He traces a gloved hand over Drifter's neck, marveling as it tenses beneath his touch. He isn't sure if it's fear or arousal that drives the movement. He _hopes_ it's some mixture of the two. 

"Shut me up, then," Drifter hisses. Shin only snorts. How a man so full of secrets could be so obvious about his wants and needs was beyond the gunslinger. 

"No." His voice comes out clearer than ever as his helmet transmats away. Pinned beneath the full force of Shin's gaze, Drifter's breathing quickens. It's exactly what Shin had hoped for. He wants to watch the man _melt_ beneath his gaze. 

Slowly, deliberately, Shin lifts a hand to his mouth. He fixes his teeth on the middle finger of his glove, then pulls his hand down, freeing it from its leather trap. That bare hand returns to Drifter's throat, this time with a hint more pressure. Shin allows his fingers to press into a pulse point, feeling the frantic rabbiting of Drifter's heart. 

He could press in further, if he wanted. He could cut off Drifter's air and hold him there until he started to bruise. Shin thinks the shades of purple he could leave would go nicely with all of the green the other man adorned himself with. 

Instead, Shin shifts the bulk of his light into his palm and outstretched fingers. It's not enough to singe or boil the skin beneath his touch, only to sting in the same way being in the sun for too long might. Even after Shin lifts his hand and allows Drifter a moment of mercy, the handprint remains. 

Drifter's mouth opens, but no words come out. His body, namely his hips that rutted desperately against Shin's boot, says everything it needed to.

He draws his hand downward pressing heat to both skin and clothing alike. The occasional wisp of smoke rises up from the more thin, delicate pieces of Drifter's clothing. He can't find it in himself to be apologetic. Nor does he doubt Drifter minds all that much. 

Shin can't wait to hear what excuses he made for it. 

He makes no secret of his target, nor any amount of effort to delay his efforts. He enjoys teasing Drifter, yes, but could only go so far. And the longer Shin delayed, the deeper the chill would sink. No, whatever he had planned needed to come, and come fast.

Ideally, so would Drifter.

Shin makes quick work of the buttons and belts that keep Drifter's pants and chaps on. Admittedly, he has half a mind to ruin Drifter's pants out of pure revenge. He relents only because he isn't sure that Drifter has a replacement pair. Enjoyable as the sight of Drifter's cock tended to be, he’s certain that it would get old fast if it was constantly flopping about in the breeze. 

So he has mercy for a shadow, just this once. Instead, of tearing, he simply tugs, pulling the pants just far enough down Drifter's thighs to reveal his plenty erect dick. He has to shift his footing to do so, but he isn't so sure the other man will find _that_ to be as merciful. If Shin were anything like Drifter, he might have licked his lips and muttered something about being hungry. 

Instead, he remains quiet. He focuses on himself for a moment, drawing his hand back up to his mouth once more. His tongue draws across his calloused palm, wetting down his hand just a touch before lowering it once more. 

The first touch alone draws a desperate breath from Drifter. His entire body shudders beneath Shin, even as his fingers so much as barely grazed over his length. He suspects, perhaps even worries, that Drifter might bubble over as Shin wraps his fingers around his substantial girth. Drifter, thankfully, manages to keep himself together. 

It takes only a moment for the heat to return. Shin is careful this time, having no intentions of leaving a similar impression on Drifter's cock as he had on his throat. Enticing as the idea sounded, he has plenty more he wanted to do with Drifter before the night was over, none of which would be aided by a half-singed dick. 

His wrist flicks upward, then down once more. As it does, Shin swears he hears the crunch of metal, as if Drifter's fingers were trying to tear through the floor. A glance toward the rogue's face brings another smirk to Shin's face. The man's neck arches so far back that he can only really see the underside of his chin. He’s more than pleased at how Drifter displays his new markings so proudly,

Shin picks up the pace, and every now and again, twists his wrist ever so slightly. His fingers are already growing damp from pre-cum, and it takes every ounce of strength in his body not to bend down and taste it. 

Not now. Not yet.

It's the pressure of his nails that finally draws the first moan of the night out of Drifter. Shin follows it up by a little more pressure against the veins on the underside of his eagerly twitching cock. Drifter responds by bucking up into Shin's hand, and Shin rewards him with another wave of heat. 

"Fuck -- " Drifter chokes out. Shin hasn't been at it long, but he can already see that his efforts are taking their toll on Drifter. His hips jerk upward of their own accord, desperately responding to every little touch. A third moan gives way to a sound almost akin to a whimper, at least if Drifter had been the whimpering type. 

It's a good thing he's not. Shin doesn't think he'd be able to handle it. 

Still, he does finally allow himself a moment of indulgence. Drifter's close enough now that he can practically push _himself_ over the edge. With his wrist still pumping, Shin settles onto his knees and lowers his head. His lips wrap delicately over the head of Drifter's cock. His tongue swipes his prize, tasting the pre-cum with no small amount of enthusiasm. 

His grip tightens. The heat grows. Drifter's hips buck upward one last time and Shin glances upward. He meets Drifter's gaze, daring him with nary a word to cum down his throat. 

And Drifter happily obliges. 

The rush hits the back of Shin's throat with no small amount of force. He takes the blow unflinchingly, swallowing the load down greedily and readying himself for more. Both tongue and wrist work until he's milked every last drop from Drifter's length, and then continues until Drifter's body collapses back down in a heap. It's only then that Shin pulls off his cock with an audible pop.

In the silence following Drifter's orgasm, Shin studies him. He's panting, breathless and, most importantly, covered in a faint sheen of sweat. It's something Shin can feel as well, slicking down the hair on the back of his neck and beading at his temples. The cool air of the Derelict had let up for the time being, giving way to a small, heated sanctuary of Shin's own creation.   
He leans forward, predatory grin returning. He steals a few kisses, and notes with some delight how Drifter eagerly laps at his lips. Drifter enjoys his own taste, Shin notes, and tucks it away for later. There will be plenty of other times to make use of that.

For now, he swings a leg over Drifter's abdomen, both straddling him and further pinning the man down. He can already feel the chill creeping back in, and that simply doesn’t work for him.

"Round two?"

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [Twitter](twitter.com/ashstriferous) and grow fat from lust.


End file.
